


Friendly Company

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Assumed Relationship, Canon Compliant, Dark Continent Arc, Developing Friendships, Falling In Love, Gift Fic, Hunter association - Freeform, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Post-Chairman Election Arc, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: For a moment, Mizaistom feels sorry for Leorio and his frustration. There’s no way the blond could be that oblivious, but maybe all the two of them need is just a little push in the right direction.





	Friendly Company

**Author's Note:**

> _Friendly Company_ was originally written and published on October 10, 2015 on [tumblr](https://cheadle-yorkshire.tumblr.com/post/130911211242/fanfiction-hunter-x-hunter-friendly-company).
> 
> Everything below is preserved as it was originally posted:
> 
> **Title** : Friendly Company  
>  **Pairing** : Mizaistom x Kurapika, Leorio x Kurapika  
>  **Word Count** : 3440 words  
>  **Summary** : For a moment, Mizaistom feels sorry for Leorio and his frustration. There’s no way the blond could be that oblivious, but maybe all the two of them need is just a little push in the right direction.  
>  **A/N** : Written for fonbella, based on the prompt “Mizaistom asks Kurapika out with the aim of making Leorio jealous enough to finally confess his own feelings, but ends up falling for Kurapika himself”. I was hoping to have this finished in time for your birthday, sorry it’s so late!! Takes place post-Chairman Election Arc. I hope you enjoy!

_**Friendly Company** _

Every person who works in the Association headquarters—which by necessity includes the Zodiacs, even the ones who don’t live in Swaldani City—has a mailbox in the building. It’s located on a long hallway off of the main level, accessible by a personalized keycard, and each box is digitally locked. While Mizaistom doesn’t have any of his business mail routed here, he often receives correspondence from other Hunters, or mail related to his specific roles within the committees he serves on. Plus, a truly staggering amount of junk mail.

As a more long-standing Hunter, his mailbox is located towards the very end of the hallway. Anyone newer has theirs closer to the door, and Mizaistom walks by the two new recruits—Kurapika and Leorio, the new Rat and Boar—sorting through their mail.

Out of habit, he monitors their actions as he enters his own passcode, propping the door open with one arm and digging the mail out with his free hand. Kurapika’s mailbox is on the very top row, and Leorio, with his added height and longer arms, is retrieving the mail for him. Mizaistom has to stifle a smile at that—Leorio continues to talk, speaking too loud and too quick, and Mizaistom recognizes the source. He’s nervous, and that makes him listen a little closer. It’s more interesting than the pile of junk mail in front of him. Cheadle is of the opinion that the prior Vice-Chairman had signed them all up for every mailing list under the sun, and Mizaistom wouldn’t put it past him.

The last thing in his mailbox is a tiny key, for one of the larger mailboxes on the opposite wall, for packages too big for their individual compartments. Each key is numbered, and it’s just his luck that his key corresponds to the mailbox right across from where the other two are still talking.

“—It’s a whole theatre that plays nothing but international films! And I thought that’d be the sort of thing you would like, so I knew I had to tell you about it. They have discounted tickets every Thursday—”

“Mhmm.” Kurapika hands Leorio another envelope, before reading the address of the next and handing it to him in turn.

Turns out, the package is large—too wide to carry in one hand, and almost too tall to see over—and as Mizaistom tries to awkwardly balance his stack of mail on top of the box, a pair of hands appear to steady the box from tipping over.

It’s Kurapika, who reaches for the rest of Mizaistom’s mail, sweeping it off the top of the box and into his hands. “Mizaistom,” he says, his voice soft and steady, and Mizaistom nods in return, as best he can while still balancing the oversized box. “Let me help. You’re going to need someone to get the doors for you.”

“I would appreciate that.” He hasn’t thought about how he was going to get the elevator, or the doors, and the offer of assistance is a welcome surprise.

“Can you hold the rest of my mail? Leorio?” He doesn’t wait for the other’s response before setting the last few envelopes in Leorio’s waiting hands. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes.”

He leaves behind a gaping Leorio, the door to the mailroom swinging closed behind them. The walk to the elevator is slow and quiet, and Mizaistom isn’t sure if he should comment on the awkward situation he’d created between them, or the strange tension between the two new Zodiacs. Instead, he sighs and lets Kurapika press the call button for the elevator.

“It’s for the Exam Committee,” he says. “So we’ll have to go to the fifth floor offices.”

Kurapika nods, and presses the requisite button once the both of them are inside the elevator. “It’s no trouble.”

There hadn’t been any apology in Mizaistom’s voice, but he feels it, all the same. They could’ve invited Leorio to come up with them, after all, or Mizaistom could have asked one of the receptionists to assist him in Kurapika’s stead.

“You and Leorio Paladiknight…you’re quite close, right?”

“We’re good friends,” is the reply, delivered with just the hint of a smile. “We met at the Hunter Exam.”

Mizaistom knows this, of course—he’d heard of Kurapika’s appointment to the Zodiac Twelve minutes after Cheadle had confirmed it, and had to listen to Leorio talk up his accomplishments and his personality in their brief meetings before the new Rat had joined them. But Leorio is not a part of the upcoming Exam Committee that Mizaistom leads, as Kurapika is.

Mizaistom had been one of two to pass the Exam that year; he has no knowledge of what had become of the other, and only remembers their number, not their name.

“Is he helping you settle in here, then? Not just with the Zodiacs, but in this city,” he is quick to clarify. “You’re going to be here awhile, so I don’t want you to feel out of place in your new home.”

“We live in the same building,” Kurapika volunteers, and Mizaistom has to wonder, knowing that, how Kurapika can still remain so oblivious and Leorio so hesitant in his pursuit of the other. “I’m settling in well.”

“That’s good.” The elevator door opens, and Kurapika steps out first, leading the way through the corridors and holding each door open until they arrive at the office and Mizaistom can set the box down on his desk. Kurapika hands over his mail a moment later.

“You shouldn’t keep Leorio waiting,” he says, moving to open the box, already calculating the amount of time he’ll have to spend in the office until he can leave the building for the day. “We’ll pick things up at tomorrow’s meeting.”

“If you’re sure you don’t need anything else.”

“No, it’s fine.” Mizaistom isn’t charitable enough to refuse help if he had offered outright, but he also can’t believe Kurapika would repeatedly prioritize work—and non-essential, off-the-clock work at that—over friendly company. For a moment, he feels sorry for Leorio and his frustration. There’s no way the blond could be that oblivious, but maybe all the two of them need is just a little push in the right direction.

Kurapika pauses at the office door. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alone, Mizaistom rubs at his temples under the brim of his hat before turning to the contents of the box. He thinks about how Piyon and Kanzai, seated to his right at Zodiac meetings, spend their free time gossiping about the other Hunters they know, and he can’t believe he’s sinking to their level.

“No,” he tells himself, putting on his most convincing voice, “you’re helping a friend. That’s what you’re doing.”

With many months to plan for the coming voyage and the impending Exam, and after all the stress and sorrow from the recent Election, harmless entertainment is something to be celebrated. Any chance to lighten up what has become a somber practice, he should take, and at the same time he can try to bring two people together who are only apart due to a combination of their own ignorance and stubbornness.

Leorio seems like the jealous type. He can work with that.

* * *

A few days later, one of Mizaistom’s conference calls is suddenly cancelled, and he has a few extra hours to kill between meetings. He finds himself walking past the break room, his pace slowing when he spots Kurapika, arms folded over the countertop, and Leorio, eating something out of a plastic container. Mizaistom hovers, just out of sight—they are not the only two in the room, or even on that floor, and Piyon gives him a strange look as she walks past him towards the elevator—and he enters the room to a wave and Leorio’s enthusiastic chewing.

He checks the fridge—there had been a birthday, he’s not sure whose, but probably a Gourmet Hunter by the clear box of artfully decorated cupcakes—and the rest is taken up by off-brand sodas and boxes of unidentifiable food labeled with _Property of Saiyuu—eat and die_.

“I was telling you about that coffeehouse I found around the corner,” Leorio says, stabbing another piece of his food with a plastic fork. “They make the _best_ coffeecake.” He takes another bite, as if to emphasize his point.

“I didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth,” Kurapika says, and Mizaistom feels the edge of his mouth tick up at the clear joy on Leorio’s face.

“The slices are too big for just one person, though,” he continues.

“Ah, Mizaistom!” Kurapika seems to finally notice his arrival, and Mizaistom closes the refrigerator door before turning to face him.

“What is it?” He glances between the two—Leorio is watching him, warily, but the bulk of his attention is still focused on his friend.

“I had some questions, about one of the phases of the Exam. I was hoping I could talk to you about it before the meeting.”

“Of course,” Mizaistom says. “Have you eaten yet?”

“What?” Kurapika’s face blanks, and he tilts his head as he looks up at Mizaistom. So that is what confusion looks like on his face.

“Have you?” he repeats, and when Kurapika shakes his head no, he offers Kurapika a smile, and props his arm on the counter, on his other side. Not blocking him from Leorio, but giving just the slightest possessive hint. “We should talk about it over lunch. It will save time, in the end.”

Behind Kurapika, Leorio has stiffened, his back ramrod straight and the fork frozen half-way to his mouth. Confusion manifests itself on his face in a much different manner, Mizaistom notices—Leorio’s posture suggests anger, but the primary emotion in his eyes is disbelief.

“Come on, it’ll be my treat. I find that a different setting helps me think clearly, especially on such arduous, private matters as this.” Every so often, his eyes flick to Leorio, to re-establish his reactions, but for the most part his attention is focused clearly on Kurapika. He hopes, at the way things are going so far, that his little project will be resolved within the day.

“Sure.” Kurapika shrugs, and he reaches up to tug at the knot of his tie. “That sounds nice.”

“Are you ready to leave? We can stop by your desk if you need to pick up anything.” Mizaistom mirrors the other’s posture, relaxing his arms and settling one hand inside his pockets, aiming for something casual.

“No. We can leave now,” he says.

“Perfect.” Mizaistom flashes his teeth in a bright smile; Kurapika could not have said anything more ideal. As Kurapika walks towards the door, Mizaistom looks up at Leorio, as if he’s just now noticed his presence. “Good seeing you, Leorio.”

Lunch, to all his surprise, is wonderful. Kurapika is an excellent conversationalist—they get through his concerns about the Exam in about ten minutes, which leaves the remainder of the meal for other, more enjoyable topics, like literature, culture, and politics. Kurapika gets impassioned when he argues, and it’s endearing how more open he is in a relaxed, secluded setting. Mizaistom does not think he’s ever seen Kurapika like this, and it makes the afternoon worth all of the hassle. For his part, he even forgets, for a moment or two, why he is doing this at all. Kurapika brings up Leorio a few times, even without his prompting, and when Kurapika ends the meal with a smile and a soft, “this was nice, we should do it again sometime,” Mizaistom feels sincerely conflicted.

It’s telling that Leorio is waiting for them when they re-enter the building, standing just out of the way of the main lobby, half-hidden behind a pillar, pretending to text someone. Mizaistom doesn’t know if Kurapika notices; if he does, he does not react, but when Leorio looks up again and meets Mizaistom’s eyes, he holds the stare, his eyes bright and wavering, before his shoulders slump and he looks over, towards where Kurapika is calling an elevator, his expression softening until finally, he turns away.

He had expected Leorio to fight; he had not prepared for this dejection. Perhaps, his pursuit was too convincing? Or, even more likely, Leorio did not wish to confront him in Kurapika’s presence.

He waits, for the remainder of the day, even sticking around his office and the building long after his meetings end and he would normally leave, just to give either one of them an opportunity, if they want one. Nothing comes.

Three days later he finds Kurapika, on his own in the lobby, reading a well-creased copy of the newspaper, and once more asks him to lunch. This time, the restaurant is a narrow, Southern Yorubian joint with maybe a dozen tables, jammed along a window overlooking one of Swaldani City’s pedestrian-only roads. They do not discuss business, or the upcoming Exam. At Kurapika’s inquiry, Mizaistom speaks of his own experiences as a Hunter—a Crime Hunter and a Blacklist Hunter have a great deal in common, as it turns out, and they have even run in similar circles in the past—it is only a matter of coincidence that they have not met prior to Kurapika’s admittance as a Zodiac.

And the longer they talk, the more Mizaistom forgets. Not just about his current work, bogging him down with inane facility reservations and recruitment plans to pre-screen potential applicants, and budget approvals and committee revisions. He forgets about the steam in the air from the adjacent, open kitchen, fronted by a low glass wall and a counter with barstools; he forgets about the people outside and the people around him and the unpaid bill and the empty glass at his elbow. He forgets about the plan, the original plan, he’d made. That this is not for his benefit, but for Kurapika’s. For Leorio’s.

He forgets, and he does not remember until his phone buzzes, nestled in a jacket pocket. It’s Leorio, with a simple message, spelled out without platitudes or procedure. _We need to talk_.

There’s even punctuation, and the message is properly capitalized, and Mizaistom’s brain instantly reacts as he would with a piece of evidence on a case, analyzing and dissecting each component part. Leorio had thought about this—not the message, but whether or not to send it—for a long time. And the tone, or what little could be determined from a static medium such as this, was serious.

He finds he is not looking forward to the confrontation as much as he had thought.

A second message follows, this one far more perfunctory: _meet me at Anderson park in fifteen minutes. By the fountains_.

The park is a familiar one to Mizaistom—it’s located a block away from the Association headquarters, and curves around one of the city’s busiest roads in an arc, linking the commercial center with the legislative buildings. At its center stands a rather impressive fountain, backed by tall hedges to block the view of the road and the traffic noise.

He pauses, and then tucks his phone back inside his jacket, straightening the hem out of habit.

“I was wondering,” Mizaistom begins, looking back up at Kurapika, “if you might do me a favor.”

“What is it?” Kurapika asks, and Mizaistom feels the corner of his mouth tick up despite himself; of course Kurapika would not be the type to instantly accept without first knowing more.

“I was to meet someone not far from here, to accept a delivery. A courier. Unfortunately, I have to take a call, and I don’t think I can make it in time. Do you think you can help me out?”

“Sure.” He tips his head, his bangs falling over his eyes. Mizaistom remembers a conversation he’d overheard, between Kurapika and Leorio, and the latter’s strong advice that the former needed a haircut. He remembers a similar one, about the film festival—barely two blocks from the park, and the cafe Leorio had mentioned, on the corner one street over. Perhaps the blue awnings would even be visible, from the park.

“Be by the fountains at Anderson park, in ten minutes,” he says. “I’ll take care of the check.”

“Then I’d better get going.” Kurapika stands and reaches for the suit jacket he’d left hung over the back of his chair. “Thanks for lunch. I had a great time.”

“As did I,” Mizaistom says, giving Kurapika a tight-lipped smile.

A minute later, he is gone, and the bill is paid. Mizaistom swirls the lone ice cube remaining in his glass, suddenly hyper-aware of everything he’d blocked out previously. He taps the fingers of his free hand against the tabletop, in time to the second hand ticking on the clock above the door, and waits. After five minutes, he springs from his chair, walking to the door and out onto the street with long, measured steps.

The wind has picked up, and the sun is diminished, hidden behind a cloud, but otherwise the streets and crowds look unchanged. As he walks, however, Mizaistom feels like it might as well have been a completely different day, for how strongly his mood has changed.

He finds a good vantage point behind a tall, wrought-iron fence, covered with crawling vines, itself backed with a few low flowering shrubs to add a little more color to the park. Kurapika already sits, on a ledge by the fountain, one arm raised to check the watch on his wrist.

He looks exasperated, and it brings a hint of a smile to Mizaistom’s face. Then, Leorio comes into view, walking from the left—it’s clear he’d come straight from the Hunter Association building—and as he spots Kurapika, he stops. Then, his feet pick up, walking faster, the rest of his body tensed and hesitant, as if he expects Mizaistom to appear, or for Kurapika to once again walk away from him. Neither happens.

He stands in front of Kurapika. There is a smile, and Kurapika pats the concrete ledge beside him. They sit, and talk, and slowly Leorio’s shoulders straighten and Kurapika’s posture relaxes. Mizaistom cannot hear their words, nor can he read their lips clearly, but it does not matter, not when their body language speaks so clearly for them. Leorio adjusts his glasses, and for a moment Mizaistom is afraid the other man has seen him, but his Nen is suppressed and he is well-concealed behind the fence, crouched in such a way that to passersby and his targets he is all but invisible. Mizaistom hopes Leorio sees it as the white flag Mizaistom intends it to be.

The wind picks up again, and spray from the fountain is blown towards them; they both laugh, unwittingly moving closer to one another to avoid the mist. Leorio touches Kurapika’s arm, lightly, and leans in closer to say something. Kurapika smiles again, and Mizaistom feels his chest clench and looks away. When he looks back, Kurapika’s expression is unchanged. The others around the fountain mill about, chatting on their phones or taking pictures, and Mizaistom wonders if Kurapika would be as free with his affection if he was not so absent of attention. Unlike the others, he and Leorio do not have the marks of their roles in the Association stamped across their faces. Attention is something that follows him everywhere, and after so many years as a Zodiac it has become as natural to him as his shadow. No one has suggested to either the new Rat or Boar yet that they should adopt the mantle of their animals, but Mizaistom believes that neither intend to, and their need for reticence is only one of the reasons why. He cannot give Kurapika many things, and that is just one more on an increasingly widening list.

Kurapika has not checked his watch since. Later, Mizaistom will text him, and say that his courier had simply dropped his delivery off at the Association building, and apologize for the trouble. And if they only speak at committee meetings and the occasional greeting over their mailboxes, then so be it. He cannot miss what he never had. And when he thinks about what prompted this whole experiment—a lighthearted distraction before what would assuredly be the most dangerous mission of their lives—he considers it a good thing that he does not have any attachments, heading into such a task. Or even the promise of one. The potential.

He turns, and begins to walk away. He does not look back.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.


End file.
